


Sweet Girl

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Don't take this serious, Jon is too pretty for his own good, M/M, crackfic, just for fun, many improbable things happening, seriously cracky, weird amalgamations of show and book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: When a pervy old Lord known to prey on pretty boys announces his visit to Winterfell, the Starks come up with a plan to save Jon's virtue - with unexpected consequences.





	Sweet Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I'm telling you again - this is not meant to be a true-to-canon-and-characters-fic. Pure crack. Probably the silliest thing I ever came up with. 
> 
> And, this being written by me, it contains a lot of Theon/Jon sap. Ye be warned. Wouldn't be me if there wasn't any.
> 
> AND I'm totally ignoring R+L=J here.

Ned Stark’s voice is grave when he tells his wife the news.

“Lord Mayerling is coming to visit us in three months. He’ll stay for four weeks.”

Catelyn’s eyes widen.

“Lord Mayerling!” The realisation hits. “Robb!!!”

Ned pats her arm consolingly.

“Robb will be fine. Lord Mayerling won’t dare to touch his host’s son and heir. Theon as my ward and a highborn is quite safe, too - once I’ve made his lordship understand that ‘ward’ doesn’t equal ‘whore’. No. The real problem is…”

“Jon Snow,” Catelyn finishes. She sighs. “You’re right. He’s a pretty boy and his… the circumstances of his birth make him easy prey. If Lord Mayerling asks for Jon Snow to be his squire during his visit you could not refuse.”

“Cat.” Ned sounds pained. “I can’t do that to Jon. I can’t.”

She sighs. Although there’s no love lost between her and her husband’s illegitimate son - this is not something she wishes on a boy of fifteen.

“Pity he wasn’t born a girl,” Catelyn mumbles. Ned looks up.

“What was that?”

“I meant-”

“But that’s brilliant!” Ned exclaims. “We disguise him as a girl! We’ll start now so he can get used to it.”

Cat smiles to herself. That should be an interesting next four months.

 

“Absolutely NOT!”

Jon can’t believe his ears.

“Can’t you just send me to the Wall for the time of the visit? I’m sure Uncle Benjen would take me in!”

His father sighs.

“Lord Mayerling knows I have a natural born child. If I send you away it could be considered a slight. He won’t be interested in you if you’re a girl, but he would take notice if you were not present at all.”

“But… but…” Jon stutters. “I have no idea how to act like a girl! My hair is too short!”

Ned tries to calm him.

“It’s three months until he arrives. You have plenty of time to learn. About your hair - it already is longer than a boy’s hair ought to be and it will grow a little more. Now stop protesting, Jon. It’s for your own good.”

Robb, who has been suspiciously quiet and red-faced until now, coughs.

“Father’s right, Jon. It’s the only way.”

Jon shoots his brother an angry glare. Robb ignores it.

“You can get a chamber near mine so I can look after you like a good older brother would. You’ll have to get a maid, though, I doubt you can handle dressing yourself.”

“No,” Lady Catelyn cuts in. “That would be highly improper.”

“What then?” Jon asks grumpily.

For a while no one says anything until Robb has the saving thought.

“Theon!”

Theon’s head snaps up. He’s spent the last half hour nearly pissing himself with suppressed laughter but now he looks taken aback.

“Huh?”

“Of course,” Robb grins. “According to your many, _many_ stories you know your way around undressing a girl. Can’t be much harder to dress one.”

Theon stares at Robb in shock while Jon glowers at his brother. He can’t mean it. Even his father is hiding an amused smile beneath his hand. Lady Catelyn sighs and rises.

“Very well. Theon, Jon - oh, how about Joanne? Lovely.”

Jon groans. Theon snorts. _Joanne_!

“Come with me. Joanne, you’ll wear one of Sansa’s dresses while we have some made for you. I’ll show you how to put it on.”

  
Jon stares at the collection laid out on the bed. A violet dress (‘mauve’, according to Lady Catelyn) with lace trimmings at the neckline and the sleeves and a bunch of skirts, some kind of undershirt (‘lace-up corset’), curious looking small breeches and long stockings that have Jon blush furiously.

He’s never even thought about what women wear under their dresses and now that he knows - he’d rather not know, thank you very much.

Lady Catelyn and Theon both have their back on him while Jon slips into the breeches and the stockings. The corset proves too much so he leaves the laces at the back open before pulling the dress over his head. This, too, has to be laced on the back. Finally he’s ready.

Jon clears his throat and Lady Catelyn turns around. Her eyes wander over Jon and he feels embarrassed like never before.

“This works very well on you. Turn around, Joanne. Theon?”

Jon can sense Theon stepping up behind him. Lady Catelyn slowly laces the corset, drawing it tightly together while explaining to Theon what she’s doing. Next is the dress. When it is done Jon turns around.

He feels hot in all those layers of fabric, and even hotter with two pairs of eyes staring at him. Jon is way too self-conscious to meet them, so he looks down onto his feet. His boots don’t really fit with the rest of his dress - why does he even think about that??

“You’ll have to shave every morning, Joanne. And maybe in the evening too. I’ll have some of my soap sent to you, have you smell more feminine.” She tilts his chin up. “Fortunately you have thick eyelashes, so we don’t have to bother with khol. Maybe just some red for your lips. Your complexion is flawless.”

It’s strange, standing there and having Lady Catelyn praise him like that. She apparently finds it easier to be kind to a girl. Jon finally dares to glance up at Theon. He’s not looking at Jon, face bright red, shaking all over.

 _Prick_ , Jon thinks angrily. He’s obviously having the time of his life. Jon will never hear the end of it.

Lady Catelyn is now mussing his hair around, piling it on the back of his head, then letting it fall down again. She sighs.

“With your curls there’s not too much we can do. Best let them fall open and maybe put a ribbon in it. That’ll do.”

Jon nods weakly. This can’t get any worse. He has no idea how to move in all that fabric, Theon’s still containing a laughing fit behind him and that is just the first day of four long months.

He’s wrong. Once he’s come down into the hall, it gets a lot worse.

Apparently his father has managed to tell the whole of Winterfell the news in Jon’s absence. The hall is filled with every man Jon knows, stablemen, guards, gardeners… all leering at him. Maester Luwin looks sympathetic while Ser Rodrik laughs and claps his nephew’s back when taking sight of Jon.

Jory grins and worms his way over to Jon. He bows over his hand.

“You’re quite a sight, Lady Snow.”

Jon wants to kick him, but Robb comes to his rescue.

“Stop teasing him, Jory! Could you see this lot out of here and make sure they know all about this business?”

Jory bows and with a last wink at Jon starts herding the people out. Jon slumps down next to Robb and buries his head on his arms. This has to be a nightmare.

  
“What do you mean I can’t train? What am I supposed to do? Needlework?”

Jon is staring at his father in horror. Ned looks somber, but every other moment his hand wanders to his mouth.

“Sword practice is not becoming of a young woman. You don’t have to work with the girls if you don’t want to, but no sword fighting.”

Jon feels like crying when suddenly there’s rescue from an unexpected side.

“Lord Stark, if you allow - Jon - Joanne could still practice archery. It would not disagree with the clothes - the dress. And he - she’ll stay in shape during those months.”

Jon looks at Theon with wide eyes. A trap? A joke? Who cares. He then looks back at Ned. _Please say yes, say yes, say yes._

“I don’t see why not,” Ned agrees. “Maybe there’s something good coming from this… unusual… situation. Joanne can work on her archery skills and you two will be forced to work together a lot more. Maybe stop all that childish bickering for good.”

Jon doubts that very much. Theon has not looked at him once since the dress-up. Probably still trying to prevent roaring with laughter in front of Lord Stark. _Father wouldn’t even mind_ , Jon thinks rebelliously. He’s sure father is hiding an amused smile behind his hand whenever looking at Jon.

  
Theon bows curtly and leaves the hall as fast as his legs will go. In his chamber he flumps face-first upon his bed.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

He’s never paid Jon Snow much attention, just Robb’s sullen shadow. But today, with the velvet dress clinging to his figure, the lace soft against his neck, the white skin of his back between the open laces… And his face, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, lips bitten red and swollen…

Theon groans. It’s the first time he has really looked at Snow’s face. Lady Catelyn is right. Those lashes brushing his cheeks before he looked up with wide grey eyes…

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

Theon doesn’t even know why he came up with the archery thing. As if he won’t be spending enough time with the bastard as it is. As his _maid_. Theon snorts.

Suddenly an image stands before his eyes. Tonight when he’ll have to go help Snow out of his clothes, his fingers will touch that milky-white skin, then Snow will turn around with that pouty mouth of his and-

Cursing, Theon turns onto his back, his hand involuntarily diving into his pants. He tries to think of Ros, of her beautiful red hair cascading down her curvy bosom, but when he comes it’s to the thought of black curls being lifted from a gently bowed neck.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

 

Jon is waiting in his new chamber for someone to come and help him out of his dress so he can slip into that ridiculously thin cotton nightgown. No matter how he tries to bend and twist, it’s simply impossible to manage on his own. He jumps when the door flies open and Theon barges in without knocking.

“Joanne,” he says as a way of greeting.

With one quick move he has turned Jon around and in the course of a few seconds the laces are open and Theon is out again, the door slamming shut behind him. Jon blinks. Huh. That was strange.

He crawls into bed, still riled up from the exhausting day. On the morrow Jon has to face his younger siblings. Arya will laugh, Bran will grin. Sansa is probably furious Jon is wearing her things. Bloody wonderful.

After a restless night Jon wakes up to Theon kicking his bed frame.

“Up with you, Joanne.”

“Turn around,” Jon demands.

Theon sighs but complies and Jon crawls out of bed, quickly slipping into the underclothes. He washes with his new soap, hastily lathering his face and neck. He sniffs. Something flowery. He even manages to shave without slitting his throat. Finally he’s got the dress over his head.

“I’m ready.”

Theon turns back. Today he takes his time, carefully tying one lace after the other. When he’s done he pulls Jon’s hair out from under the neckline of the dress. His fingers brush Jon’s neck and Jon can’t contain a shiver.

Behind him Theon curses. Jon peeks over his shoulder. Theon looks angry as fuck.

“Don’t you look at me like that, bastard. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

With that he’s gone. Jon swishes to the door, skirts rustling. He looks out, just catching Theon’s door slamming shut before he hears him locking it. Curious. Maybe he’s sick or something.

  
Theon is sick. He has a fever. His throat is dry, he’s sweating, feeling hot and cold and shaky. He feels dizzy too. It’s a fever. He just needs to relax, sleep it away. Or toss himself off again.

  
Jon looks at the shoes Lady Catelyn has given him. They have tiny heels (‘kitten heels’, says Lady Catelyn) and look immensely uncomfortable. He slips into them and takes a step.

Robb comes through the door just in time to catch Jon when he stumbles forward, saving him from falling flat on his face.

“Oops! Careful, sweet sister!”

He grins while dragging Jon in a more upright position. Jon smiles sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes. When Robb frowns at him in confusion Jon stomps on his foot with all his might. To the sound of Robb’s wailing he swooshes out and sails down the hall, head held high. Jerk.

His confidence crumbles at Arya’s cry of delight.

“JOANNE! How nice you look, you’re almost prettier than Sansa!”

Jon rolls his eyes then squints over at Sansa to see how she takes that. To his surprise she’s giggling her head off with her friend Jeyne. She coughs a little when she feels his gaze, then smiles.

“It suits you well, Joanne. Mauve is just your colour.”

Bran has left his seat and comes towards Jon, hand outstretched.

“Hello Joanne, nice to meet you.”

His little face is serious, but when Jon takes his hand and bends down a little, Bran whispers in his ear.

“Can I laugh about you? I think I’ll burst if I don’t.”

Jon sighs. “Go ahead.”

  
Robb knocks on Theon’s door. “Hey Greyjoy, you lazy prick. Did you go to bed again?”

The door opens to reveal a very pale Theon. Robb blinks.

“Are you okay? You look… out of it.”

A mumbled, “Fine, fine” is all he gets.

  
Jon finds it hard to concentrate on the food on his plate. All eyes are on him the whole time and when he does something Sansa or Lady Catelyn don’t consider ladylike they tut at him and tell him how to do it right.

Jon sighs. He means to reach for a bowl of corn mash when the bowl suddenly appears before he can really move.

“My lady.”

Jon stares at Greyjoy angrily. “Fuck off!!”

“ _Joanne!_ ” Lady Catelyn and Sansa shout in unison, scandalized.

Ned shakes his head.

“Good thing you’re a quiet kid. There’s absolutely nothing we can do about your voice. Just - just don’t speak much when Lord Mayerling is around.”

Jon blushes and looks down into his lap. Now he’s not even allowed to talk! When he looks up again his gaze falls on Theon. He has his chin propped up in his hand and stares at Jon while shoving the food around on his plate. His eyes are glassy.

Robb elbows him in the side. “What’s wrong with you, Theon? You are… you look like a moron.”

“Wha-?” Theon seems to wake up from some daydream, he looks at Robb like he has trouble remembering who he is.

Jon has had enough of the whole thing. He gets up. Theon jumps up as if bitten by something. Ned starts to cough.

“What has gotten into you, Theon? The last time I’ve seen so much politeness from you was when Lady Krysta was here with her daughters.” Lady Catelyn raises her eyebrows.

Ned’s cough seems to worsen. Theon slumps back down, face nearly crimson.

“If I wouldn’t know better I’d say he looks… besotted,” Lady Catelyn tells her husband. Ned nearly seems to choke by now, he excuses himself. Jon stares after his father.

“May I be excused as well?” he asks as soft as he manages. Theon makes a strange noise.

“Yes, you may go, Joanne. I’ll see you in an hour for your curtseying lesson.”

Jon nods briefly at Lady Catelyn and flees. On his way out he passes his father, going back to the hall. He seems to have gotten his breath back, but when he sees Jon he starts coughing again.

“Father, are you alright?” Jon asks, worried. Ned just waves at him and disappears around the corner. What the..?

  
The curtseying is a lot harder than it looks. Lady Catelyn lets Jon repeat the motion for almost an hour until she’s (hardly) satisfied.

“Still not very graceful. Even Arya does it better. I’ve seen that, young lady,” she scolds Arya who has poked her tongue out at her. “You’ll have to practice every day, Joanne.”

Jon can barely resist poking his tongue out as well. Instead he curtseys - clumsily - and leaves.

In the afternoon he goes to practice something much more useful in his eyes - archery. He’s still glad father has allowed this. He’d go mad if he would have to confine himself to sitting around doe-eyed, curtseying and not talking.

When the long, long day finally finds an end after a solitary dinner - he just couldn’t face them again - Jon patiently waits in his room for Theon to come and help him. Theon doesn’t come. After a while Jon decides to go looking for him. Or _someone_ really, anyone who will get him out of his dress.

  
Theon is sitting on the floor in his room, leaning against the bed. It’s the fourth time he has to lay hands on himself, otherwise he’d be walking around with a constant boner. A knock on the door has him speed up. “I’ll be a minute!!”

“Greyjoy?”

Jon - Joanne. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

He bites on his fingers to prevent himself from crying out when he spills. Hastily he gets up and wipes his hand on his tunic without thinking. He looks down. Fuck, this was one of his favourites!

Rightfully angry he marches to the door and rips it open.

“WHAT,” he bellows at a startled Snow.

“Little help?”

The bastard has the audacity to sound miffed! MIFFED. At _Theon_! Sure - HIS tunic wasn’t ruined because of someone’s cream and roses complexion, now was it? In his rage Theon is a little careless with Snow’s dress - the laces tear under his hasty movements and Snow cries out.

“The dress!!!”

The door next to Theon’s opens and Robb pokes his head out.

“Greyjoy, you BEAST! At least dance with the girl before you rip her out of her clothes!”

Theon looks at Robb, plain murder in his eyes. Uh-oh. Jon thinks it might be better to carefully retreat.

  
Once Jon is gone Theon takes a step towards Robb, then another. Robb raises his hands.

“Whoa. That… that was a joke, Theon!”

He doesn’t expect Theon to crumble at his words. He leans against the wall, panting.

“Fuck, Stark. You’ve got to help me. This is no joke anymore. I swear if this goes on for another day - Drowned god, my cock will fall off!”

“Our Joanne get to you that much? I have to confess one could get ideas… Don’t look at me like that, she’s easily the prettiest girl in Winterfell! Who’d have thought. But I shouldn’t be surprised about you, really. A new skirt to hunt and you lose it. Just remember, Theon - it’s Jon.”

“I know!! Do you think I’m not telling myself that the whole time? So far it isn’t helping at all.” Theon hears how desperate his voice sounds, it’s appalling really.

“I guess you’ll have to try your luck then. With your charms and charisma it shouldn’t be too hard to have her fall in your strings.”

With that Robb returns into his chamber, grinning to himself. He really hopes Theon will hit on Jon when he’s present. That’s something he wouldn’t want to miss for all the gold in the seven kingdoms.

  
Jon wakes up with a horrible feeling. For a moment he cannot place it - then he remembers. The dress is ruined! Jon groans. Why does he even care?

The knock takes him by surprise.

“Yes?”

Theon comes in, bows slightly and - smiles. Jon stares in bewilderment. It’s not a smug grin or a teasing smirk, it looks rather… nice. Disturbingly so.

“My lady. I am terribly sorry about your beautiful dress. May I take a look to see if I can fix it?”

Theon’s voice is gentle and kind, and Jon nods, completely floored. Theon turns his back on Jon and for a moment he’s confused. Then he catches on and quickly goes through his morning routine. When he’s safely in the dress, Theon turns back.

“The colour suits you very well. It brings out your eyes.”

“Huh?”

Theon’s smile widens and he places his hands on Jon’s shoulders, softly pressing him into turning around.

“A lady would say, ‘pardon’, not ‘huh’. There’s still a lot to learn, sweet Joanne.”

Jon frowns. What in the seven hells is wrong with Greyjoy? Maybe he’s eaten something bad. Or maybe - Jon goes rigid at the thought. _Is he trying to seduce me? Just because of the dress_?

Theon tugs at a lace here, a lace there. Every other second his fingertips brush over Jon’s back and as much as he tries he can’t repress the goosebumps prickling over his skin.

It seems to spur Theon on, he leans over Jon’s shoulder and whispers in his ear.

“Just as I thought. I can tie the ends together and nobody will notice a thing.”

Jon bites his tongue so he won’t say, “uah”, or worse, “do that again”.

He just nods and Theon goes to work. When he’s done his hands wander down to Jon’s waist. Jon steps out of his reach quickly and turns to face him.

Theon’s eyes are glittering with confidence, his smile is so handsome Jon can for the first time understand why so many girls fall for his spiel. He swallows, then coolly raises an eyebrow.

“You do realize there’s still a cock beneath all that velvet, Greyjoy,” he remarks dryly. “And zero tits.”

Theon’s eyes widen, his smile glides off his face.

“Spoilsport.”

With that he nearly runs from Jon’s chamber. Jon shakes his head. Delusional halfwit.

The rest of the day passes pretty much like the last, except that Theon is always either sulking ostentatiously or looking dreamily whenever Jon’s gaze falls on him. Robb looks like he’s having great fun, whispering in Theon’s ear the whole time.

“Just look at those _lips_ , how they close around the spoon. So full and red… and how she looks at you, all dark, hot eyes - if looks could kill… She’s a fiery one, our sweet Joanne. You might’ve tried to bite off more than you can chew.”

Theon stays quiet throughout Robb’s running commentary on Jon eating his dinner. His words don’t fall on deaf ears though, and he gets harder by the second.

(Robb would never confess that it turns him on as well, but it absolutely does.)

Theon really should go and take care of himself, especially since Lord Stark is watching him with a hard to describe expression. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Is he amused? Is he contemplating the best angle from where to chop Theon's head off?

Theon shudders. Finally dinner is over and he can disappear and indulge in his new favorite pastime. Carefully, as he’s really sore by now.

By the time he has to go and help Snow out of his dress Theon’s exhausted.

Still, the moment he has that silky skin under his fingers all the blood he desperately needs in his brain rushes south and he has trouble undoing the knots he had tied in the morning. Jon must notice, his whole body is trembling with barely contained laughter.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Theon murmurs. “You having such a power over me.” Unable to help himself he trails one finger slowly down from Jon’s - Joanne’s - nape to the spot where the dress conceals anything more.

A violent shiver running through Snow has Theon smile. And when he turns around to face him, his lip bitten, his eyes hazy - the rest is easy, he has done that a hundred times before. Familiar.

The way he has to bend down to reach invitingly parted lips, sweet as the sweetest summer wine, the small noise of surprise when a girl is kissed for the first time - and yet it’s different than any kiss he’s ever stolen.

Not least because, just when he starts to get more adventurous, sharp teeth sink into his lower lip. He jerks back with a startled cry.

“You little monster!”

Jon licks his lips, eyes dark. He reaches out, trails his fingers softly down Theon’s chest. Theon can’t stop the full-body shudder running through him.

“My, Lord Greyjoy, I’m shocked!” Jon nearly sounds like a sweet, innocent girl, despite his husky voice. “Now,” he flutters his lashes, smiling sweetly, “piss off, will you?”

  
As soon as the door has closed behind Theon, Jon completely loses his barely kept up countenance. His first kiss! And it was horrible and disgusting and - he sighs. Who is he kidding? It was amazing. Bloody skillful Greyjoy.

  
Robb has been waiting outside for Theon. When he tries to shoulder past him, Robb catches his wrist.

“How did it -” His gaze falls on Theon’s bleeding lip and he starts howling in delight. “She _bit_ you! That’s my sister, good girl!”

Only when Robb becomes aware of the look in Theon’s eyes he lets go of his hand.

“That I live to see that day!” Robb sighs happily. “Prince Theon, mooning after the bastard of Winterfell and all he gets is a bloody lip and a sore cock!”

Theon glares at him for a moment before he continues to his door. “Up yours, Stark,” is the last thing Robb hears before it falls shut.

  
Jon thinks that this should be enough to deter Greyjoy from any future attempts in this regard. As so often, Jon is utterly, utterly wrong.

When he comes to help Jon with the dress in the morning he’s all charming smiles and suggestive brushes - and for the first time Jon is glad about the many layers of sumptuous fabric concealing his reaction to all that. Because his reaction is - well. Noticeable.

All in all he’s made his peace with the clothes. The fabrics are incredibly soft on his skin and to his chagrin he has to confess that the extra leg space he has under the swirling skirts isn’t bad at all. Even the stockings he’s getting used to. His legs do look awesome in them.

Only the small breeches he hates with a passion. No matter how carefully he moves they always seem to crawl up and go places and when he stops to remedy that situation he has to make sure nobody’s around.

No one has told him that yet, but Jon is reasonably sure that fishing around in your asscrack for your breeches isn’t considered ladylike at all.

But all in all - when Lady Catelyn tells Jon at breakfast that his new clothes are ready he can’t hide a rush of excitement that has Lady Catelyn smile at him with something like fondness.

Sansa, Arya and Bran are present when Jon arrives at the women’s chambers for his fitting. And so is Theon. When Jon glowers at him and asks Lady Catelyn why he’s here, she smiles.

“Of course Theon should be here, Joanne. He has to see how the dresses are done up. Now get on with it, girl.”

The first dress is a pale blue satin that has even Arya shout in delight.

“Your eyes look nearly blue with this, Joanne! Pretty!”

Jon cocks his head.

“Since when do you care about clothes?”

“I don’t!!!”

This is said with enough vehemence to shush them all, but Jon still hears her whisper to Lady Catelyn.

“Mother, can I have a tunic in that colour?”

The next is a dark red, heavy velvet and now it’s Sansa’s turn to gasp.

“I’m all envious! I could never wear a red dress, but with your black hair - oh Joanne, all the men will stare at you!”

Jon peers over at the only grown man in the room. Yep, Sansa’s right. There’s a lot of staring going on.

“Those two are for special occasions, Joanne,” Lady Catelyn interrupts his thoughts. “I think I’ll have a green one made as well, emerald. And these,” she indicates another three cotton dresses with simpler lines, “are for everyday.”

In the end Jon leaves with five dresses, two cloaks (one for good, one for everyday), more stockings, more underskirts and shirts and more ghastly breeches.

Theon has been tasked with carrying all the stuff back to Jon’s room. He’s not talking much, but when they arrive he seems reluctant to leave. Jon crosses his arms and looks at him expectantly. Theon clears his throat.

“Joanne - I owe you an apology for my… inappropriate behaviour yesterday. Here,” he fishes something out of his pocket and takes Jon’s hand, placing the thing in it and gently closing Jon’s fingers around it.

Jon looks down. It’s a comb, ivory if he’s not mistaken, with tiny dark red stones forming patterns on it. He looks up at Theon, not knowing what to do with it. Theon smiles (charmingly, the prick).

“May I?”

He takes the comb back and carefully (probably in fear of being bitten) slides a strand of Jon’s hair back and fixes it with the comb.

“Such a pretty little thing…”

Jon turns away, blushing furiously at those words. He looks in the mirror. The effect is… quite nice, actually. It’ll go well with the red velvet dress. He takes a deep breath, careful to keep his voice soft when he says,

“Thank you, my lord. It is beautiful. I accept your apology.”

Jon is proud with himself, now if that didn’t sound like a proper little lady he doesn’t know what would. To his secret delight Theon bows over his hand.

“Not as beautiful as you by half.”

Jon blushes some more (a new favourite sport of his, really) and then curtseys. It goes pretty smoothly, if he may say so himself.

“Would you accompany me to dinner tonight? There’s company expected and it would be a lovely occasion to wear that red dress.”

Jon is baffled. Now that came unexpected. And it’s not as if they’re not all going to be at dinner anyway. But on the other hand - he can’t deny it’s a heady feeling, to be able to make Greyjoy behave like that. So Jon nods, glancing shyly up from underneath his lashes.

For a second Theon seems too stunned to react but then a jolt goes through him and he smiles that seducing smile again.

“Until then, sweet Joanne.”

  
Robb finds Jon lounging in a nice, hot bath in the late afternoon. Until then Jon hasn’t done much else than curtseying, walking and practicing a soft, gentle voice.

Robb sits on the edge of the tub and grabs the cloth, wringing it out over Jon’s head.

“I guess you already heard we have guests tonight? Lord Glover and Lady Sybelle and her husband and children. Father has told Lord Glover of our little masquerade, so today’s your chance-”

“To be laughed at some more?” Jon snorts. “Fabulous, really.”

Robb slaps the cloth across Jon’s face.

“Don’t be silly, Lord Galbart is a kind man. He’ll tell us truthfully what he thinks of your performance without mocking you.”

“Alright,” Jon splutters, wrestling the cloth out of Robb’s unyielding fingers. “Off with you, I have to get ready. But could you do me a favour and ask your mother to see me? I want her opinion on something.”

“Miracles do happen,” Robb grins and turns to go. Jon’s shout holds him back.

“Robb!”

He turns back expectantly only to be hit full in the face with a dripping wet cloth.

“See you at dinner, Stark!”

  
_Sassy minx_ , Robb thinks while retreating to his room next door. Now he needs to change too. He decides to go check on Theon. He knocks and waits for an answer. These days you never know in which position you’ll find Theon in there.

And really, it takes a couple of minutes for Theon to open (and unlatch, haha!) the door, and Robb finds he looks… relaxed. Ha. He strolls inside past Theon and looks at the bed.

“Woah, Greyjoy. Something planned for tonight? That’s your best stuff!”

He indicates the clothes laid out on the bed. Then he sniffs.

“Do I smell - did you buy another fancy soap? You must have quite the collection by now. What’s the newest? Something forestry… don't tell me… fir?”

Theon grumbles something Robb doesn’t understand, but what he says next has him completely flabbergasted.

“Joanne agreed to accompany me to dinner tonight.”

Robb swallows. What’s Joanne’s plan? Surely she can’t mean to _go_ with Theon. Maybe it’s for training how to behave with a highborn lord. Yes, that’s surely what it is. _Still_ , a whiny little voice in the back of his head says, _she could’ve asked me for that as well._

Plastering a sincere smile (or so he hopes) on his face, Robb claps Theon on the back.

“Good luck then, Greyjoy. I wish you success.” He leans in and talks in Theon’s ear. “If you go too far I swear I’ll hang you from the broken tower. By your balls.”

Satisfied with the look of horror on Theon’s face, Robb goes to finally change into something dry.

  
Lady Catelyn is curious. What could Joanne need her for? Upon her knock a soft voice bids her to come in. Joanne is definitely getting better at this.

She finds her already halfway dressed, in the red velvet. Like Sansa, Cat can hardly contain a sigh of envy. The curse of a redhead.

“You look lovely, Joanne. How can I help you? Do you want me to do up your dress?”

Joanne nods. Cat notices she has put on some of the lip red. It makes her mouth look even fuller. When she’s done with the dress, Joanne turns to her, a little comb in her hand.

“Would you please help me with this, my lady? I can’t seem to make it stay in place.”

Cat takes the comb and studies it. Ivory, and - are those rubies? This must’ve cost a fortune. Carefully she slides it into Joanne’s hair, then steps back to look at the overall effect.

“Very pretty. Who gave you this?”

Joanne blushes, it makes her look adorable.

“Theon gave it to me. He asked me to dinner tonight.”

Theon, how interesting. Maybe… No, a stupid thought. Impossible. Cat sighs. Really, she has to be glad Sansa’s too young for Theon yet or she’d have to watch that boy like a hawk. Now she smiles at Joanne.

“This will be a good opportunity for you. Was that all you needed me for or is there something else?”

“Lady Stark,” Joanne writhes and sighs, but finally gets to the point. “Will there be dancing tonight and… and later when Lord Mayerling comes?”

“Why, yes of course! Oh,” Cat realises, “you don’t know how to dance as a girl!”

Joanne’s mouth turns down into a pitiful frown and she nods. Catelyn is moved by her obvious desperation.

“There’s more to it than I can teach you now, we are expected soon. For today - I gather you’ll dance with Theon? Just follow his lead, he’s a good dancer. He’ll show you what you need to do.”

Joanne swoons slightly and Cat smiles. She’s clearly not unmoved by Theon Greyjoy’s charms. Even Cat has to admit, he’s a handsome lad and - if he wants to be - very enjoyable company. She still doesn’t trust him as far as Deepwood Motte, but that’s another story.

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Joanne says and curtseys, nearly graceful.

“You should call me Catelyn, Joanne.”

The words have left her mouth before she can think better of it. Cat had always (unfairly, she’s aware of that, but she’s only human) hated Jon Snow. Joanne on the other hand - Cat feels responsible for her well-being now.

Joanne curtseys again. “Thank you, Lady C-c-catelyn,” she stutters.

Cat smiles at her again, then does the unthinkable - she gives the startled girl a brief hug before leaving. _Ned should’ve seen_ _that_ , she thinks. _He’d be proud of me_.

  
Jon is still a little shaky and flustered from Lady Catelyn’s kindness. She hugged him! After all these years… He has to fight back the tears. The dreaded - anticipated - knock has him jump up, then he sits down again and rises more slowly, more womanly.

“Yes?”

Theon comes in. He’s wearing a black tunic embroidered with a golden kraken on the front. He looks every inch a prince of the Iron Islands, or like Jon would imagine one.

His dark hair is combed back but Jon knows it’ll fall into his eyes soon enough, and he’ll spend half the evening with stroking it back again and again with that arrogant little gesture.

The smile he gives Jon has his stomach flutter. As does the look in his eyes when he takes in Jon’s appearance, his gaze roaming up and down his figure.

“Lady Joanne, you are breathtaking.”

He steps closer to take Jon’s hand, then leans forward to gently kiss his cheek. Maybe he lingers a second too long, but Jon’s not in any position to scold him for it - he’s too busy with remembering how to breathe.

Theon holds out his arm and Jon lays his hand on it. Like that they go down into the hall. Upon their entry, Ned - who’s been talking to Lord Glover - starts coughing so violently his guest starts clapping his back with a worried expression.

When he has regained some composure he introduces Jon to Lord Glover.

“My natural born daughter Joanne.”

Jon curtseys and looks down, blushing. Lord Glover grins.

“Exquisite, what a beautiful little flower. Ned, you old crook. The girl has barely had time to adapt to this new life and you already have her shoved off to the Greyjoy kid!”

Both Jon and Theon flush hotly at that and Ned starts coughing again.

“Go along, the two of you. Galbart, what do you think?”

Leaving slowly on Theon’s arm, Jon can still hear Lord Glover’s reply.

“Perfect, Ned. Old Mayerling will never guess a thing, especially with the girl swooning around the Greyjoy lad like that. Maybe you should tell him they’re betrothed. Adds credibility to the masquerade.”

Jon’s step falters and for a moment he thinks he’ll fall flat on his face, but then Theon’s hand is there, steadying him. Jon braves a look at him. He’s beet-red, lips pressed together tightly.

When Theon feels Jon’s gaze on him he looks down into his face.

“I really could do worse than a pretty little thing like you - but my father is going to have a heart attack if he hears of this. A bastard - a STARK bastard, of all things!”

Jon bites his lip. This is mean - and besides…

“You know perfectly well that was a joke, Greyjoy. Father will not even think about it twice.”

  
Wrong again. After successfully surviving dinner and his first dance (Theon’s really a good partner, not even complaining about Jon trampling his toes to mush) Jon just starts to think it’ll be over soon and contemplates how to make Theon squirm as much as he can when Ned gets up and shouts over the noise of the hall to get the people’s attention.

“Dear friends, honoured guests! With great pleasure I announce the betrothal of my daughter Joanne to my ward Theon Greyjoy!”

Roaring applause and loud cheers follow his words. Jon stares at his father in shock. Ned shoots him an apologetic glance before turning back to his conversation with Lord Glover.

Jon can’t believe it. Everyone here and the rest of the North knows Lord Stark’s bastard is a boy, not a girl. How does father intend to keep the charade up until Lord Mayerling’s visit has passed??

  
Theon sits stock still next to Jon. There he was, five minutes ago, innocently (well, not entirely innocently) trying to figure out a way to get Joanne to fall for him, and all of a sudden he’s a betrothed man.

To a bastard. To Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard. To Lord Eddard fucking Stark’s fucking bastard SON.  
(Somewhere far away, on Pyke, Balon Greyjoy clutches at his chest. Something terrible has happened.)

“It’s not real, Theon. It’s just for now,” a small voice whispers to his side. He looks over at Joanne. She’s not looking at him but he can see tears brimming in her lovely grey eyes.

Suddenly he feels great sympathy for Snow underneath all that. He must feel humiliated. And he’s right of course. So Theon smiles and touches Joanne’s arm.

“Smile, love. Don’t let them see your tears. I swear to you I’ll be the best fake betrothed - while it lasts.”

Joanne looks up at this and gives him a shy, watery smile.

“Seems like I could do worse too.”

  
That night in bed Cat can’t sleep. She goes over it again and again in her head. When her decision is made she rattles Ned’s shoulder.

“Ned, wake up.”

“Hrrr?”

“You have to send an urgent raven to Robert. Ask him to legitimize Joanne.”

Now Ned is fully awake.

“Good gods, Cat - where is this coming from now?”

“If Balon Greyjoy even hears so much as a hint of this fake marriage he’ll rebell immediately. And then you’d have to take Theon’s head and Robb will never speak to you again.”

Ned is quiet while he ponders her words. Finally he nods.

“True, true. I wouldn’t want that. But Cat,” he looks at her sternly. “If Robert legitimizes Joanne we can’t take it back when he’s Jon again. He’ll be Jon Stark until the day he dies.”

Cat still flinches a little at that. Not if what she thinks could happen… No, an impossible thought. But -

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“I’ll send the raven in the morning.”

There’s one more thing. Cat purses her lips. She hates talking about that.

“Does Robert know Jon is a boy?”

Ned shakes his head, thoughtful.

“Good question. He was drunk a lot after winning the war. I could tell him about our situation - he knows Mayerling all too well, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Don’t. Just insist on calling Joanne your child, not son or daughter. That way it works for both.”

“You’re very clever, woman. I’ll do it like this.”

  
Jon can’t sleep. Theon - his _betrothed_ , seven hells - has brought him to his chamber, has gently unlaced his dress and bid him a good night. No lewd innuendos, no suggestive touches - nearly a little boring, Jon thinks.

He clambers to his feet. He’s pretty sure young ladies shouldn’t wander around in their nightgown, but then - he doesn’t have to go far.

  
Theon has trouble sleeping too, so he does the only thing that comes to his mind (yes, _again_ ). But in the middle of it he suddenly sits up. _I’m really thick_ , he thinks. Now would absolutely be the best time to get Snow - Joanne - to… He carefully tucks himself away and goes to the door.

They meet in the middle, between their rooms, just in front of Robb’s door. Jon does what he does best (blushing furiously). Theon smirks. Joanne looks like a little girl in the feminine nightgown.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, love? As your fake future husband I feel it’s my duty to bring you back at once. And maybe…”

 _Oh what the fuck_ , Theon thinks and reaches out to stroke that silky black hair back behind Joanne’s ears. She lifts her chin and that’s really all the invitation Theon has ever needed to bend down and kiss that sweet, soft mouth.

He does pull back before going further though (his lip still smarts from the last time) and softly caresses Joanne’s cheek with his thumb. At the moment she doesn’t show any cannibalistic tendencies, she looks rather… dazed. She smiles shyly at Theon and his stomach somersaults.

“You’ll have to come and make sure I’ll stay in bed then.”

  
Robb is leaning against his door. He’s been wide awake the whole night (aka the night where no one slept). And when he’s heard voices outside he went to the door to eavesdrop, opening it a tiny fraction. Luckily those two idiots were too busy staring at each other to notice.

When they kiss Robb isn’t even surprised. What Theon wants, Theon gets. And if he’s completely honest, if Theon would try to kiss him he wouldn’t object either. Even Jon he can’t be surprised about. All that tender attention was bound to hit home sooner or later.

What really surprises Robb is how much it bothers _him_. He knows Theon is fucking everything with a pulse and a skirt, but that this would extend to Jon - Robb shakes his head.

Well - Jon is old enough to know what he’s doing and if Theon hurts him Robb can still look forward to hanging him from the broken tower, by his stupid balls.

  
Speaking of balls, all that kissing hasn’t really done anything to relieve the tension in Theon’s, rather the opposite. And judging from how Joanne shifts around it has had a similar effect on her.

Theon follows her into her room where Joanne sits down on the bed and drags a fur over her lap. Beneath that - Theon suddenly realises with stunned clarity that he didn’t think this through.

What’s under that fur isn’t anything Theon ever thought he’d have to deal with. And as much as Theon would love to get Joanne out of her dress - without it it’s just Jon Snow. Zero tits and plenty of… you know.

Joanne seems to sense his inner turmoil. She sighs, sounding resigned.

“Shall I put one of the dresses on?”

 _That’d be a possibility_ , Theon thinks. Let her wear one of those dresses, flip her over and - well, from behind there shouldn't be much difference. But something has him hesitate.

“Not necessary, sweetling. How about some more kissing for now?”

Joanne makes a strange noise at that, she looks part relieved, part disappointed. _Fifteen_ , Theon thinks. A fifteen year old girl who hasn’t even properly kissed anyone before tonight.

When he thinks back to him being fifteen - well, maybe rather not (he already was in the double digits on his fifteenth name day. And no, not ten). And Joanne or not, this is still _Snow_.

Snow, who ran from Ros as if she had teeth down there. Theon had been pretty pissed at the bastard back then, but now - he really has the urge to be tender with her. His sweet little wife-to-be ( _fake_ , his brain reminds him, helpful as ever).

  
Jon stares at Theon, waiting for him to make a move. When he does it’s only to sit down next to Jon.

“One thing, love. You have to look me in the eye and tell me that you’re doing this because you want it, not because you feel obliged to or something, just because of your father’s crazy idea.”

Jon shrugs. That’s really unexpectedly nice and thoughtful of Theon, and that more than anything else makes him answer truthfully.

“I want to.”

“You want to what?”

Slightly appalled Jon shoves Theon, hard. It’s one thing thinking about it, but spelling it out - Theon raises his eyebrows expectantly and Jon admits defeat.

“Kiss you.”

“Your wish is my command. Come here, sweetling.”

Jon leans in, eyes closed. With a chuckle Theon pulls him flush against his chest.

“Don’t be shy, love. Nothing improper about kissing your betrothed.”

 _This joke_ , Jon thinks, _will get old really fast_. Then Theon kisses him properly, open-mouthed and harder than before, and Jon finds he cannot think much at all anymore.

Somehow he’s crawled into Theon’s lap during the kiss and to Jon’s mortification (and suddenly unbearable arousal, which mortifies him even more), there can be absolutely no doubt that Theon is enjoying himself well enough.

Is he supposed to do something about that? Jon wonders. Experimentally he wriggles his butt in Theon’s lap. This causes Theon to moan, then groan, then -

“Fuck.”

Theon has gone tense against Jon, his mouth pulled down in - embarrassment? Anger?

“My best breeches… You and your cute butt, honey.”

But now he’s smiling again and Jon sighs in relief. He’s still hard though, and he doesn’t want Theon to notice, so he slides off of him and under the furs. Theon watches him in confusion.

“What are you doing, sweetling?”

“Going to bed?”

Theon frowns and Jon’s stomach sinks. Has he done something wrong?

“Have you - did you come?”

Jon shakes his head.

“Then, love,” Theon proceeds to lift the furs and slip under them, “this is far from over. No one shall say Theon Greyjoy doesn’t satisfy his lady wife.”

He takes Jon into his arms and resumes kissing him in a way that is nearly enough to finish Jon then and there. But it’s his long thigh, tentatively slipping between Jon’s legs, and all the glorious friction this causes, that’s his downfall.

  
At Joanne’s cry Theon feels pretty satisfied with himself. There, they can work with that. Still - if he ever expects Joanne to touch him, he should be prepared to reciprocate justly. Only fair.

A soft sigh has him look over. Joanne has fallen asleep against his shoulder. He tries to decide if he should leave, but then he’d have to come over in the morning anyway to help her get dressed.

But - there’s no way he can sleep in those pants, they’re sticky and damp and - ruined. Better sleep without, just in case there’s some more to be had on the morrow. He doesn’t have an infinite supply of breeches after all.

Once that decision is made he gets on with it. It’s only when he’s out of his pants and cleaned that a thought hits him. How should he get fresh pants on the morrow? Maybe slip over and get some now when there’s no one there to spot him dancing around half-naked, only in his tunic.

A word and a blow, in less than two minutes he’s back and under the furs again. Theon presses his cold feet between Joanne’s warm legs and giggles when this causes her to stir. She doesn’t wake up, though, just wraps herself around him.

 _A bit like a bear trap_ , Theon thinks, without having ever seen a bear trap in his life. Or a bear. Just, a bear trap wouldn’t be so cuddly. Or smell so good. Or make that cute little noise when he kisses along her jaw.

  
In the morning Jon spends a lot of time just staring at Theon, still snoring blissfully into the pillows. Maybe, if he’s really quiet and fast, he can wash and dress before Theon wakes up. The washing goes well, Theon doesn’t stir.

Jon decides to skip the damnable breeches and just slips into one of his underskirts. He takes a step towards the chair where his shirt is lying and - oh! The fabric feels fantastic against his cock.

Jon shivers. Who the fuck needs breeches anyway? He’s just angling for the shirt when a drowsy voice behind him calls out.

“Morning, sweetie. What are you doing there?”

Jon goes rigid in distress. But, he tells himself, at least he’s in a skirt and has his back to him, so the game is not lost yet. He makes to pull the shirt over his head but Theon stops him.

“Wait. Turn around, love. I want to see you.”

What? Jon feels self-conscious, a lot. Because you know, lack of tits and all that.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive.”

The words are directed at Jon’s neck. He didn’t even notice Theon coming so close.  
Reluctantly he squeezes his eyes shut and turns around with a jolt. Nothing happens.

After a ridiculously long amount of time Jon carefully opens one eye. Theon is staring at him, gaze burning. He looks - hungry?

After an awful lot of staring Theon raises his hands, stopping nary an inch before Jon’s naked chest.

“May I?”

Slowly Jon nods and,accompanied by a sigh, Theon’s hands touch him, slowly roaming over his chest, down his sides and over his stomach. Jon stands perfectly still, watches Theon look at him, still with that hunger in his eyes.

  
Theon can’t get enough of it, the slender, toned body, the smoothness of the white skin, screaming to be kissed, licked, anything.

“Bed,” he mumbles incoherently. Joanne follows willingly enough, letting Theon lay her down. She throws her head back when he latches onto a hardening nipple, unable to help himself.

Her moans are sweeter than any song he’s ever heard and he bites down lightly to hear more.

“Fuck, Snow,” Theon hears himself say, contrary to everything he’s held truth until this very moment. “Tits are seriously overrated.”

  
Jon is in a heaven, or maybe it’s a hell, it’s hard to tell with all those new sensations flooding his body. Theon is lying between his legs, doing things to him - he would never have thought there could be so many places that give pleasure like this.

When he’s tossing himself off he usually goes straight for the finish line, no detours, no distractions, a quick succession of determined strokes to be done in under two minutes (fifteen!).

But having someone kissing every inch of his chest, biting down on his neck, sucking on the skin at his throat - Jon moans in rapture again and again. Then he’s startled nearly out of his mind.

Theon does _something_ , something that involves him pressing his crotch tightly against Jon’s and before Jon can worry about his unmistakably male body, Theon grits his teeth and does it again and again until Jon is sure he’ll die like this.

Without thinking he worms his hand between their bodies, the desire to touch getting overwhelming. When he’s found what he’s looking for he starts palming him through the long shirt he’s slept in, causing him to tense.

Encouraged, Jon pushes him off. He’s kneeling above Theon - who, to Jon’s dismay, is still wearing that shirt. Determined, Jon pushes it up until Theon gets the (not so subtle) hint and pulls it off himself with a choked laugh.

“Eager, hm? I’m all yours, love.”

 _Yes, you are_ , Jon thinks, taking in the body before him. Of course he’s seen Theon naked on occasions but he’s never looked (okay he has, but not with the knowledge that he could do something).

So now Jon looks and looks, from Theon’s lean torso down his flat stomach to his - Jon gulps. Woah. He’s seen that too, but never so hard and never so. Well. Big. And never with the desire to touch.

The first contact is hesitant, shy. But Theon’s long moan quickly dissolves any shyness Jon feels, replacing it with want. He wants this. Wants to feel it, wants to taste…

  
Theon’s head falls back when Joanne bows down to take him in her hot, wet, lovely mouth. He issues a whole string of curses. What she’s doing to him… it’s not even a minute before he feels heat tightening in his stomach. He grabs fistfuls of soft black curls, pulling softly.

“Joanne… my sweet darling Joanne…”

With a harsh cry he spills, and his good girl doesn’t recoil, doesn’t even flinch. When Theon can see clearly again he sees her sitting between his legs, looking dazed. Her lips are redder than ever before and without thinking he draws her down onto his chest, kissing her deeply.

 _Hm_ , a part of Theon’s blissed out brain thinks when he tastes himself on Joanne’s tongue, _that’s not too bad_. Strange some wenches think they have to spit and bitch about it afterwards.

Something’s poking his side and Theon comes rushing back to reality. One look at Joanne’s flushed face tells him she’s embarrassed again. Theon melts a bit. He always thought all women are beautiful in their own way (parts of them at least, he’s never been much of a _face_ guy), and the thought of this particular girl feeling bad for anything about her body…

“It’s alright, love. Come, lie down. I’ll help you.”

And even when part of his mind is still shying away from the thought, he wills his hand to slip under that skirt and - oh. Okay. That’s not… that’s not so bad. Actually, feels quite nice, the soft warm skin moving under his fingers.

But it’s nothing compared to Joanne herself, blushing all the way down to her chest, biting her lips, her grey eyes clouded, and the _sounds_ … He’ll do this all day for the rest of his life if it means his girl will sigh his name like she does now.

“Theon… gods…”

The hotness of her release takes him by surprise, hotter than his own he’s sure. And not as disgusting as he thought by half. Would she taste like himself? he wonders. Only one way to find out.

Oh. That’s… a bit salty. Heavy. Not sour like he thought. All in all, not so bad. He sees Joanne staring at him, mouth hanging open. And maybe that’s the best part of it, that it’s her, his sweet girl.

  
Jon watches Theon lick his fingers, eyes closed, a look of concentration on his face. It is quickly replaced by a different look - surprise, then relief. Theon opens his eyes and grins at Jon.

“My lady, you do not disappoint in any regard.”

Jon makes a strangled noise, he throws himself at Theon. They don’t hear the knock, lost as they are in their kiss.

  
Ned has sent the fastest raven he has, but it’s still at least a week before they can expect an answer. That is, if Robert doesn’t forget about it because he’s drunk. Or whoring around. Or whatever it is he’s doing these days.

 _But_ , Ned thinks, _I really should check on Jon - Joann_ e. The poor thing was completely flabbergasted when he announced her engagement. So he goes from the rookery straight to her chamber.

When his knock isn’t answered he lets himself in. And gets the shock of his life.

“THEON!”

It’s nearly funny how fast they surge apart, Joanne hastening to clutch a fur to her chest, Theon draining of all colour. His hands have wandered to his neck and he looks like he’s about to faint.

Inwardly, Ned rolls his eyes. The boy tends to be a bit hysterical about the whole beheading thing, really. It’s not like Ned goes around all day chopping people's heads off for no reason whatsoever.

 _Although_ , Ned thinks, now at least he would have a reason. If it hadn’t been his own doing. And then, Joanne had seemed rather into it. Poor girl is near tears now, while Theon is still clutching his throat, making strangled noises.

Ned sighs. Time to put them out of their misery (by talking, only talking!).

“Calm down, girl. Theon, stop that nonsense, your head is staying where it is. Joanne, I just wanted to check on you after your surprise yesterday, but to me it seems you’re entirely fine with it, hm?”

Ned carefully arranges his face into a stern expression.

“Still, I expect your behaviour outside this room to be impeccable, is that understood?”

Both nod vigorously and Ned allows himself a tiny smile before glowering some more as he leaves. He has a reputation to maintain after all.

  
The next days fly past quicker than any other time in Jon’s life. Theon has taken it upon himself to be his personal archery master and of course there’s a lot of groping going on, but apart from that he’s at his best behaviour.

They haven’t done anything more yet. They kiss, they touch, they get each other off (Jon has a new favourite sport, it involves his mouth and Theon’s cock), but that’s it. Not that Jon wouldn’t go further, he’s as curious as a cat. But for some absurd reason Theon won't.

“I would never besmirch my wife’s virtue by laying with her before the wedding.”

And no matter how cleverly Jon had pointed out that, all things considered, they were already laying a LOT, and his equally clever remark that _there’s not going to be a wedding_ \- Theon stands strong. (If Jon knew how much agony that causes Theon he’d be appeased a great deal.)

  
Jon has started taking dancing lessons now. Lady Catelyn is a very strict but good teacher. It’s in the middle of another dancing lesson that Robb bursts in, shooting Jon a sullen look before whispering something to his mother.

Robb looks at Jon a lot like this nowadays. Probably jealous of all the time Jon and Theon spend together now. He’ll invite Robb for a night of drinking, Jon resolves, just like they did before.

Lady Catelyn smiles at whatever Robb has told her, then claps her hands.

“Lesson adjourned, my dear. Go and get dressed, we’ll have a celebration tonight. I’ve had a special dress made for you for this occasion, I’ll have it brought to your chambers. Now off you go!”

  
Back in his chamber Jon finds the most beautiful dress he’s ever seen in his life. It’s dark grey, the colour of his eyes, with white embellishments at the sleeves, the neck and the hem. Next to it lies a new cloak as well, a darker grey than the dress, adorned with white fur.

Jon washes and shaves thoroughly. He’s just sitting down to pull on his stockings when Theon lets himself in. He’s grinning like an idiot.

“I see you got new clothes again, love? Here, let me help you with this.”

He kneels down before Jon and slowly rolls one stocking up his leg, kissing along the silk as he goes. He repeats this with the other leg and by the time he’s done Jon is shaking uncontrollably.

“This is a special day, love. I _accidentally_ eavesdropped on the maester and Lady Stark - now I really can’t spoil the surprise, but I still want to give you something…”

Before Jon can ask what that is, he finds out. Theon rigs his skirts up until he’s wholly exposed and then lowers his mouth to take him in. That’s never happened before, not this way round, and Jon is in absolute bliss.

So much so that it doesn’t take long for him to utter a warning, which Theon chooses to ignore. When he pulls back he looks so proud with himself Jon feels a sudden rush of fondness well up in his chest.

Come to think of it, since he’s Joanne Theon has been acting so differently towards him, Jon has actually started to like him. And of course he’s sexy as fuck, that might be a factor as well.

  
When Joanne is all dressed up nicely, Theon takes the time to kiss her slow and deep. He has no idea what will happen after tonight. If it will change Joanne. If it will change everything.

They go down, Joanne gracefully floating at Theon’s arm. She’s really getting good at walking and generally moving in a more feminine way. They are the last to enter the hall and all eyes are on them immediately.

Joanne blushes adorably when Theon leads her to the high table. He can see the pleased surprise on her face when he has her sit down next to Lord Stark. She looks at her father with wide eyes, unsure why he’s looking at her so… proud, Theon thinks.

  
Father rises and clears his throat. He looks at Jon.

“Kneel.”

Jon complies, completely bewildered.

“In the name of Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, I hereby declare that from this day to your last day you are Joanne Stark, child of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Rise.”

Jon rises to his feet, the noise from all the people ringing in his ears. He can’t comprehend what just happened. Stark? He’s a Stark? It hits. Stark. No longer Snow. No longer a bastard.

He looks at his father, smiling, Lady Catelyn - she’s smiling too but it’s a bit tight around the edges. When she sees Jon looking at her, the smile becomes a little softer. Arya and Bran are beaming at him, Sansa smiles in much the same fashion as her mother.

Robb - Robb looks shell shocked. Jon stares at him pleadingly. _Please be happy for me, I swear I shall never threaten your claim as father’s heir, pleasepleaseplease!_

When his eyes lock with Jon’s a jolt goes through Robb, and slowly a grin starts spreading on his face until it looks like his face is split in two. _Congratulations_ , he mouths at Jon.

And then Jon’s face is brought sideways and Theon claims his lips in a demanding kiss, long enough to make Ned clear his throat pointedly.

“Congratulations, Lady Stark,” Theon smiles against Jon’s mouth before withdrawing. Jon’s mind is reeling. He’s a Stark, he’s a girl and he’s just been kissed by his fake betrothed in front of the entire hall. How things are ever supposed to get back to normal after that Lord’s visit is beyond Jon.

But now is not the time to ponder that. Now there’s dinner to be had, a lot of mead and wine to drink (“no ale for you, young lady”) and congratulations to be accepted.

There’s music, too, and it seems nearly everyone in Winterfell wants to take a turn with Lady Joanne Stark. Jon is whirled from one pair of arms to the next, he’s laughing, the alcohol going to his head, until he finds himself in front of Robb.

Robb looks like he’s had a lot to drink as well, his cheeks are flushed, his hair is dishevelled and his grin is positively lewd. Even his speech is slurred.

“Lovely sister, dance with me.”

Reluctantly Jon takes the offered hand. In an instant he’s pressed tightly against Robb’s chest. He’s not so much dancing, rather rubbing himself against Jon like a needy dog. He lowers his mouth to Jon’s neck and laves his tongue over his skin.

Jon can’t believe what is happening, has Robb lost his mind? He tries to break away but all he manages is for Robb to tighten his hold, arms around Jon like a vice. He starts to nibble at Jon’s ear, breathing into his hair.

“Sweet Joanne, sweet girl, you drive me crazy-”

Rather abruptly they’re torn apart, Jon is free and sinks into a different pair of arms and hides his face against cool silk.

Theon’s arms feel comforting and finally Jon braves a look. Lady Catelyn has Robb by his ear and is scolding him furiously.

“Stupid boy, if you can’t handle your drink, you'd better not drink AT ALL in the near future. There, you made your sister cry!”

Jon touches his cheek, he really is crying. When the fuck did he become such a girl?

“Now off to your room, young man, before I ask your father to put you over his knee!”

When Robb has left, sheepishly and with slumped shoulders, Lady Catelyn turns to Jon. He fears the worst.

“Hush girl, you did nothing wrong. He’s drunk, he didn’t mean to-” She sighs, her body rigid in anger. “Theon, accompany Joanne to her chamber. We’ll never speak of this again.”

  
Theon is quiet the whole way while Jon is still sniffling every now and then. When they have reached Jon’s chamber, Theon locks the door behind them. He turns to Jon, his face hard.

“You can stop crying now. Nothing happened.”

Jon swallows. Theon sounds angry.

“I… I don’t understand - why would Robb…”

Theon snorts.

“Not much of a mystery. Look at you, with your red cheeks and your sparkling eyes. And the way you danced with all these men, you little tease - you made me look like an idiot out there. _You_ should be put over some knee for being so lovely.”

Jon feels more heat flush his cheeks at that. The words are out before he can think about them.

“Then punish me.”

This startles Theon out of his anger.

“What?”

Jon is babbling, not listening to himself.

“Punish me, I was bad, I didn’t behave like the future Lady Greyjoy ought to, you have to punish me…”

For a moment Theon just stares, then he starts at Jon, shoves him towards the bed. He sits down and pats his knees, eyes gleaming.

“Come on then. I’ll show you what happens to naughty girls like you.”

Without hesitation Jon throws himself over Theon’s lap, arse high up. He feels the dress being dragged back, then one after the other his underskirts until his arse is bare. He closes his eyes in anticipation of a slap, but nothing happens. Jon cranes his head to look at Theon. He’s staring, dumbstruck, at Jon’s arse.

“ _Drowned god…_ ”

His voice sounds nearly reverent and suddenly his hand comes down hard. The pain surges through Jon and he cries out.

“Joanne, are you alright?”

Jon swallows again and again, his throat feels dry, his arse is stinging - “More,” he whispers.

“You naughty girl,” Theon says, baffled. “You like it!”

The next slap has Jon bite his lip hard enough to taste blood. Again and again Theon’s hand comes down on his behind, until Jon is rock hard and squirming, tears streaming down his face, until he’s constantly gasping and moaning.

The slaps stop. Then Jon moans in rapture when he feels soft lips kiss his sensitive, tender flesh.

“I would never have thought,” Theon mumbles, “that I’d enjoy this so much. All of this. I’ll be sad when it’s over.”

The meaning of those words slowly sink into Jon’s mind. Of course, he realises with sadness, he’s completely forgotten. It’s not real, none of this. In a few months he’ll be Jon again, and Theon will not want him anymore.

He’s welling up again. All those dresses and behaving like a girl must’ve had some curious effect on his brain. Jon tries to hide it but Theon catches on quickly. He pulls Jon up.

“What’s wrong, love? Was I too harsh? Did I hurt you?”

Jon shakes his head, embarrassed about all the crying. But then, this is what Theon likes, that he’s a girl right now. He didn’t ever like Jon. Theon chuckles.

“You’re even worse than a girl, Snow.”

And somehow that helps, Jon shoves him back and pouts.

“Stark!”

“Yeah, that’d be weird,” Theon grins. “That’s what I call your brother. Can’t possibly call you that in bed, I could never look at him again.”

“But you can’t call me Snow either.”

“What then?”

Jon hesitates - what the fuck.

“How ‘bout Joanne?”

  
Robb is waiting in his room. He’s pretty sure his mother isn’t done with him yet. So he can’t exactly say he’s surprised when she finally shows up. She doesn’t look angry at all, only disappointed, which is strangely worse. Robb can’t keep silent anymore.

“I’m so sorry, mother! I don’t know what’s come over me, I was just… just…”

“Drunk,” Lady Catelyn supplies. “Yes, thank the Seven, you were drunk enough for everyone to notice. Nobody will think anything more of it. But I know you. And until Joanne is Jon again, I suggest you stay away from alcohol altogether.”

“Yes, mother,” Robb says quietly. What does she mean, she _knows_ him? How?

“And you will apologize to your sister.”

“Yes, mother.”

Lady Catelyn gets up with a sigh. “I was young and… smitten… once, too.” She kisses his forehead. “It’ll pass.”

Robb thinks he can hear her mumble something before she’s out, something that sounds like,

“I should marry that boy off as quickly as I can.”

Robb is confused. Did she mean him now? Or Jon?

  
Funny how time can fly by when you’re happily ensconced in being a betrothed girl. Jon has decided that maybe he should learn some feminine skills after all. He’s getting so good at archery he’s almost on Theon’s level by now (which vexes him greatly) and Jon is starting to be bored.

Both Arya and Sansa are delighted at his joining them. Sansa because he’s abysmal at it, Arya - because he’s abysmal at it. Septa Mordane has pretty much given up on Arya, so now she throws herself into Jon’s lessons with all her might. Not that it’s helping.

Robb doesn’t speak much with Jon. He’s apologized for his behaviour and that was that. Jon still thinks they should invite him some time, but Theon is vehemently opposed to that idea.

“First, he doesn’t want to. As you know I’ve tried a dozen times now. He’s my friend and you know how much I love Robb, but no way he’s getting drunk around you again. He’d be under your skirts in no time.”

Jon thinks Theon has it wrong, but as a dutiful little wife he says nothing - then goes and invites Robb anyway. Robb hesitates before carefully smiling at Jon.

“I’d like that. Just the three of us, like the old times. Just say when.”

“When,” says Jon, happy to see Robb smiling again.

  
But their plans are thwarted by Lord Mayerling’s arrival. From the first moment Jon sees the man he wants to fall to his knees, kiss his father’s feet and thank him a million times. He’d rather be disguised as a cow than to be prey to this… this…

“What an absolute PIG!!!” Robb is enraged. They finally managed to get together that night, the three of them, despite Theon’s disapproval. “Father has sent all the younger boys back to their families for the time. There’s not one under the age of eighteen he hasn’t tried to grope and he’s only been here since yesterday!”

“Make that twenty, Stark,” Theon says dryly. Robb’s eyes widen.

“You too?”

“Of course. Caught me in the corridors and asked me if I’m a good ward and fulfill my _duty_ to my captors.”

“What did you answer?”

“That Lord Stark is a good, honourable man and not a swine like some other Lords I recently met.”

“You didn’t!” Robb is nearly doubled over laughing.

“Course I did. He kept his paws to himself at least.”

Theon and Robb both turn to Jon simultaneously. He shrugs.

“Didn’t even look at me twice.”

“What an idiot,” Robb grumbles, tongue already loosened from the wine they have been drinking. “You are the most beautiful, loveliest girl I’ve ever seen. If I would get my hands on you I’-”

Theon eyes him warily.

“Watch your mouth, Stark”

Robb sighs.

“Can I at least watch?”

(We’ll cast a veil of silence over how that went down - alright, Robb being Robb always gets (nearly everything) what he wants.)

  
The next evening Lord Stark hosts a great welcome feast for Lord Mayerling. Everyone is holding their breath at the introduction part.

Ned is sweating slightly.

“My eldest son and heir, Robb.”

Lord Mayerling leers.  
“Pretty one…”

“My eldest daughter, Joanne. She’s engaged to be married to my ward, Theon Greyjoy.”

Lord Mayerling gives Theon a sulky glance before turning to Joanne.  
“That’s the former bastard? Good of you to wed her early, Stark. You know what they say about bastard blood.”

Theon growls, Joanne blushes, Ned grits his teeth.

“My youngest daughters, Sansa and Arya.”

Lord Mayerling yawns.  
“Nice, nice.”

“My sons, Brandon and Rickon.”

Lord Mayerling hasn’t enough time to even look at them before Cat has herded them away again.

  
At a later hour when everyone is sufficiently inebriated (everyone except Robb) Lord Mayerling leans over to Ned.

“About your bastard. Could you be persuaded to hold the wedding while I’m still here? Oh, I’m only staying two weeks by the way.”

“Probably because there’s no one to fuck,” Robb grumbles to Jon. Jon doesn’t hear him. His mind is still trying to process what he just heard. _Wedding. Now. Two weeks. Wedding._

“But Theon’s family could never make it in time,” Ned protests weakly.

Lord Mayerling only snorts.  
“What, you mean Balon? No one wants to see the old miser anyway. Do me the favor. I _love_ weddings!”

“Because the bedding ceremony allows you to gape at a naked guy,” Robb murmurs.

Jon still doesn’t listen. He’s looking at Theon who seems to have left his body or something. His eyes look strangely vacant. When it’s time to retreat Jon has to take his hand and tow him along to their chambers.

In the hallway Theon suddenly stops dead.

“I… I think I should stay in my room tonight. Good night.”

Before Jon can react he’s vanished behind his door. What the..?

  
Theon is trying to make sense of what is happening. It’s fake!!! He wants to scream it. Well - maybe they’ll make a fake wedding ceremony as well. _Fakefakefake_!!  
Why does everything have to be fake all the time?

Not his family, not his house, not his home, not his wedding, not his wife, not his Jon.

Wait, what?

Theon sits up. He wants it to be real. Wants the Starks to be his family, wants Winterfell to be his home, wants a real fucking wedding and most of all he wants his Jon!! And there’s a way to get all this.

“I’m going to marry a man,” he says out loud, to see what it feels like, hearing it. “I’m in love with a man.”  
(Somewhere far away, on Pyke, Balon Greyjoy gasps when a searing pain shoots through his left arm.)

He jumps to his feet, to the door - and finds himself face to face with Lord Stark. He looks as baffled as Theon feels.

“Oh good, you’re still up. I wanted to talk to you about that whole-”

“Yes,” Theon interrupts, urgently. “Yes, you can hold the wedding. Tomorrow if you like. Fuck my family.”

Lord Stark frowns.

“Theon, if we go through with this - this IS the North after all, the Old Gods won’t consider it a sin - but it means it’s for life. You can’t fake it.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

But Lord Stark isn’t finished.

“And when the time has come for you to return to Pyke, Jon won’t be able to come with you.”

Theon swallows. He’s right. But…

“If I remain Joanne I could go with him.”

The shy voice makes both Theon and Lord Stark jump. Jon has snuck up on them and is hovering behind Lord Stark now. Ned turns around.

“You know what that would entail, Jon. No more sword fighting. Shaving twice a day. Having people ask you all the time why you don’t have any children and if you shouldn’t start thinking about it, tick-tock. Leaving Winterfell.”

Jon shrugs, gaze defiant.

“I don’t care. I want this. I love him.”

Theon can’t stand it any longer, he shoulders Lord Stark out of the way to get his hands on Jon.

“You’d really do this? Be my little wife, forever?”

Jon nods. Ned sighs.

“Alright then. We’ll have the ceremony in one week. Theon, I will still write to your father, anything else would be very impolite. He won’t come, I’m sure. And,” he raises an eyebrow, “maybe you’ll stop being afraid of Ice so much, now that you’re going to be my son-in-law.”

Theon stares at him for a moment before he cautiously starts to grin.

“Unless,” Ned continues, “you ever so much as hurt one single hair on Jon’s head.”

Theon gulps, eyes wide, paling a little. But Jon laughs.

“Stop it, father. Theon, don’t listen to him. As if I’d ever let him do that.”

Theon’s smile returns until he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Thanks for the blessing, _Dad_.”

 _I wish I'd thought that through_ , thinks Ned.

  
On the morning of the wedding Jon has woken up early and is now on his way to Lady Catelyn’s chambers. Theon has spent the night with Robb (Jon could hear them drunkenly bellowing all night from Robb’s room next door, the great finale being a stupid song about his ‘snow white skin’).

When he enters Lady Catelyn’s chamber his gaze falls on - Theon? Then he turns around and - oh. A woman. Tall and lean and long-legged, the same hair and eyes as Theon. She’s good-looking in a strange, hard way. And, Jon notes with interest, she’s wearing breeches. Men’s clothes!

“Ah, the lovely bride!” the woman exclaims in a deep, pleasant voice. “My name is Asha, I’m Theon’s big sister.”

Oooh. Jon smiles cautiously and Asha’s eyes glitter in such a familiar way Jon automatically warms to her. That is, until she leans forward and kisses him, like, properly kisses him.

“It’s good luck to kiss the bride,” she says, winking at him.

Over her shoulder Jon sees the other women throw each other wary glances. Does Asha know..? Why else would she kiss him like that? Thankfully she leaves after this.

The ivory satin dress Lady Catelyn has had made for Jon fits like a glove. Everyone assures him how lovely he looks. Then - the maiden cloak, snow white with the sigil of House Stark embroidered on it.

As the final touch Jon asks Lady Catelyn to put the ivory comb Theon has given him into his hair. She has tears in her eyes (partly because she’s honestly moved, partly because her girl-scheme has worked out way better than she would ever have thought).

When Ned comes to take him to the Godswood, Jon is all nerves. He’s as quiet as he ever was, fearing this was all the most bizarre dream he’s ever had, not something really happening (he could be forgiven to think that, it IS bizarre what’s happening, but let's delve no further into that).

  
Theon is waiting for his bride under the heart tree, Asha at his side. He keeps sneaking little glances at her, still not quite believing she’s here. She’s changed a lot.

(“How did you make it in that short time?” he asked her. “Coincidentally I was just in the neighbourhood. You know, looking at castles to sack.” After a meaningful glare she added, “I won’t, I won’t. Not family, obviously. Oh!” she exclaimed, “I nearly forgot. Father had a heart attack and you’re supposed to come back because it looks like he’ll be dead soon.”)

When Ned leads Joanne to Theon, his heart skips a beat. How lovely his girl looks! He swallows, suddenly nervous about his text.

“Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

Yes!!! - he didn’t stutter or cough or anything. Ned’s answer follows.

“Joanne of House Stark comes here to be wed. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

 _ME, ME, ME_ , Theon wants to shout. Instead he answers properly.

“Me, Theon of House Greyjoy, son and heir of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands. Ward of Eddard Stark. I claim her. Who gives her?”

“Eddard of House Stark, father of the bride.” Ned turns to Joanne. “Joanne Stark, will you take this man?”

His girl looks like she’ll faint any second now, Theon thinks with slight worry. But her answer is audible enough.

“I take this man.”

Theon reaches out for her cold little hand and gives it an encouraging squeeze. Together they kneel before the heart tree, bowing their heads. After a moment of silent prayer they rise again.

Theon takes Joanne’s maiden cloak off her shoulders. He’s grinning widely when wrapping her in the bride’s cloak, a golden kraken on black velvet.

Then he swoops her up in his arms to carry her to the feast awaiting them.

“You’re bloody heavy, Snow,” Theon whispers. This finally causes Joanne to smile, and he kisses her to the oohs and aahs of the wedding guests. Arya makes vomiting noises. Lord Mayerling, who has been surprisingly quiet and calm until now, sobs into a handkerchief.

  
At the feast Asha insists on sitting at Jon’s side, her hand constantly gliding up his thigh. Jon keeps slapping her away but that doesn’t deter her in the slightest.

“Once you come to Pyke we’ll have Damphair drown you properly, make an Iron Woman of you. Do you know how to fight, sweetling?”

Jon rolls his eyes.

“Sword, yes. And I’m nearly as good as Theon with a bow and arrows.”

“Good,” Asha croons. “I like them fiery.”

Theon on Jon’s other side groans.

“Don’t worry,” Asha grins. “I’ll have the brother.”

  
Robb watches them from the other side of the table. They do seem very happy and of course he’s happy for them, but his stupid heart still hurts. That is, before he catches Asha looking at him. Okay, leering at him.

And she does look a lot like Theon who he always found handsome, and contrary to Joanne she _does_ have tits, and all in all he’s totally on board with that.

  
After a lot of feasting and dancing etcetera Lord Mayerling claps his hands.

“Bedding! Bedding! Bedding!”

Theon shakes his head, Ned does the same. “No way,” they say in unison.

Lord Mayerling looks crushed, so much so that Theon can see Ned starting to think about giving in. With a sigh Theon gets up.

“There you go.”

He starts to strip down to his breeches then, after just a moment of hesitation he loses them too. With a bow to Lord Mayerling, and to the loud cheering of all others, he makes his way through the hall.

“Bring me my girl, Asha, will you? Maidenhood intact,” he shouts back over his shoulder. More cheering ensues when Asha complies, lugging Joanne over her shoulder with ease.

This, Jon thinks, hanging limply over his sister-in-law’s shoulder, is the final end of any dignity he did have left. At least he gets away with his maidenhood (ha) intact, Asha restricts herself to kneading his arse suggestively.

Inside their new chambers (bigger, better) she dumps him on the bed (with Theon already inside) and crosses her arms. Then she smirks.

“Give your best, baby brother. Make her scream.”

With that she leaves and they’re finally, finally alone. Jon feels shy like never before.

“Would you help me undress? Or shall I keep it on?”

Theon sits up and starts untying the laces at the back of Jon’s dress and corset.

“No. I married you, Jon, Joanne, Snow, Stark, Greyjoy - and I’d rather have you naked in my arms.”

He slides the dress down Jon’s shoulders and Jon gets up, pushing it down alongside the underskirts and small breeches (oh please, he can’t go commando on his _wedding day_ ). He pulls the corset over his head and turns to Theon, finding him earnest for once.

“You are beautiful, Jon. Come here, love.”

Jon comes.

(A lot.)

***

“Theon?”

“Hm?”

“No salt wives.”

“...Fuck.”

***

Of course there are rumours about Lady Greyjoy. She’s freakishly strong for such a pretty woman, her shoulders are a little broader than a woman’s usually are and she fights better than most men. And sometimes it looks like there’s a five o’clock shadow on her lovely face -

But no one who’s even a little fond of his balls would ever dare mention something like this in front of her Lord husband, or her Lord husband’s sister and co-regent.

The lack of children is surprising, given how much they’re going at it all the time. But the succession is secured, with Lady Asha’s son (a red-haired little lad with blue eyes and a lot of freckles, father unknown).

All in all, it’s a pretty happy ending.

 


End file.
